Honour to us all
by DistrictHeathdene
Summary: Clove's version of the 74th hunger games. The alluring Cato has captured her attention but they both know there can only be one victor - what's more important; love, or bringing glory to your district? Rated T for violence in the games
1. Chapter 1

I twirl on my toes, spinning faster as they flash red in my peripheral vision. I hear the thud of my knives meeting the targets; sinking their blades into the foam. I know that I will not miss any of them, even though the world around me is a blur – I will not miss, because I never miss. Twirling as I hurl the knives I feel like I am dancing. My deadly dance. I come to a standstill, laughing at the scene around me; all six of the targets' lights are out, leaving the training room in a sort of semi-darkness. I catch my breath, smiling, when I notice him. From the corner of my eye I see the tall boy leaning against the wall, watching me. He claps his hands together slowly and mockingly and he raises an eyebrow as I stare at him.

"Cato," I greet him coolly, watching intently as he runs a hand through his golden hair. His body is muscular, toned and strong. His face handsome, but never without a smirk; a half smile that whispers _I'm gorgeous. You want me, but you will never ever have me. I am better than you._

"Keep that up, and maybe you'll even have a chance getting into the hunger games this year." He replies, confidently undermining my achievement with the targets. My skin bristles with anger and my hand goes to my hip automatically, searching for my weapons, all of which are currently embedded in a lifeless targets. What a waste. Embarrassed, I try to mask the gesture but Cato catches it anyway.

"Clove, isn't it?" He steps towards me purposefully, leaning in close so I can barely breathe. His lips are slightly parted, his eyes twinkling. I feel alive, like the electric fence that runs the perimeter of our district. And like the fence, he has me ensnared. _Irrational, _I tell myself, _stupid. _But in that instant I'm wondering what it would be like to meet those full lips with mine. For a wondrous, terrifying, erratic second I think that's what he's going to do. His face is so close to mine that the tips of our noses brush. But then he widens his mouth into a smile, showing off pearly white teeth.

"You wouldn't dare, little girl," he whispers seductively before striding from the room, his brassy laughter echoing behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Embarrassment is not an emotion usually known to me but I feel its bitter grasp this morning. In the training centre again, I try to forget my scene with Cato from the night before but his dazzling face swims in my mind, distracting me; blue eyes, the colour of the sky, twinkling with secrets and lush lips, whispering to me...

The knife I was throwing clatters to the floor. I missed. I _never_ miss. _You wouldn't dare, little girl. _Cato's words ring in my ears and I let out a scream of rage. By now most people in the room are looking at me due to my outburst and a boy with curly hair who must be no older than fourteen is stifling a laugh. I cannot possibly have people laughing at me. I am a winner, one of the best in this whole wretched training centre, in the whole wretched District Two! I cannot, will not, be laughed at.

"What the hell do you think you're laughing at, huh?" I slam the boy into a wall, pinning him there with my forearm pressed against his throat. His face pales and his lips turn into a grimace. I think he's trying to say something but I'm pressing on his vocal chords and only faint squeaks are coming out. Now I'm the one laughing, a strong bold laugh as I release him and he slides down the wall to the floor. He's not cut out for the games, weak, I think to myself.

"Anyone else?" I say somewhat manically, throwing my arms up in the air as I address the small group of people who were watching the display.

"No?" I glare at them, daring them to say something, anything, so I'll have an excuse to hurt someone. But no one speaks up.

"Excellent." I pick up a spear from a rack of weapons and plunge it into a dummy's heart. When everyone's satisfied that I've calmed down enough to no longer be of interest I hear a soft voice in my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"That's more like it, maybe you really will get into the hunger games," It's Cato. Of course it is. His voice is like velvet, a deep purr. I turn to face him; he's much taller than me so I have to look up to look into his eyes.

"You know I think I could take you, Cato," I try to mimic his seductive tone but unfortunately I don't think it has quite the same effect when I do it. He laughs at my suggestion and strokes my hair back from my face. It makes me shiver. But it also makes me angry, it's a gesture one might do to a child – I am not a child, nor am I going to let Cato treat me like one.

"You think so, Clove? Meet you here, tonight? I'll bring my sword."

Strangely this offer of a fight is presented as a date. This too angers me, or does it? Yes, anger. That's all I feel for this boy. Anything else is unthinkable. The effect he has on me makes him a weakness; Victors do not allow themselves weaknesses and I am going to be a Victor.

Despite this, I know that I will turn up tonight. How can I not, when the offer has been made by someone so mesmerising?


	3. Chapter 3

And turn up I do. It's after hours at the training centre, students aren't supposed to be in here this late but I know the secret ways in. I've been slotting in extra training time since I was twelve; sneaking in after it's closed, my own private sessions. It's how I've gotten so good over the years – to have skill is one thing but to be a winner means hard work too. Not something I'm opposed to, I just never thought I'd have to share these sessions with someone else. They're my time, therapeutic almost, which is funny seeing as they consist of my pretending to kill. But now Cato has broken in to even that, I need to shake his hold on me, if I only knew how. Or wanted to.

I slide through the small rectangular window above the main training room. The drop is big but I've done this since I was a child so I land softly, bending my knees. He's already there, facing away from me in the centre of the room. The dim, buzzing, safety lights in the ceiling don't illuminate much so all I can see is his large, muscular frame; and in his right hand, a long, deadly looking sword which he swings lazily back and forth, letting the light glint on its blade.

Why did I come? I should just forget about him, the sooner the better. He makes me feel weak and that makes him dangerous, but he also makes me feel strong. Besides, I never back down from a fight.

For a brief moment I wonder how he got in here; he's much too big to fit through my little window. That's one of the advantages of being small I guess, you can get to places that other people can't. Not that it matters really, how he got in. What's important is that he's here now and so am I, but I don't know what I should do so I blurt it out.

"How did you get in?" The words tumble from my lips and I curse myself, why did I say something? I could've taken him out from behind if I hadn't opened my big mouth! Although I imagine he was ignoring my presence and not that he was unaware of it, so a surprise attack would've been futile anyway. Cato turns to face me, laughing at my question.

"You're not the only one I can charm, Clove," he winks, dangling a set of keys on his forefinger. Angry. I am so angry, who is he to think he can control me? I am not his pet. I feel the heat flushing my cheeks. I run at him, pushing him against the wall like I did to the boy who laughed at me. Cato is strong, very strong, but I don't think he expected me to act so suddenly so I push him backwards easily. I am strong too. I hold a small knife to his neck, smiling, pleased that I caught him off guard but he too is smiling and I feel the faint pressure of the sword's blade at my back. Stalemate. If this were a real fight, neither of us could move without the other's weapon sinking in to their flesh. At least I assume this is not a real fight; I'm not sure how willing Cato would be to hurt me. I wouldn't put it past him.

This revelation spurs my next move and with another, smaller knife I gently scrape his ear; a bead of red blossoms on it but he still smiles.

"A scratch on my ear? Is that all?" his voice is pleasant, friendly, but I feel the pressure on my back increase slightly.

"I could cut it off if you like," I cock my head, teasing. Our faces are very close. I'm worried he might be able to hear my heart, hear how fast it becomes when he's near me.

"I don't doubt you would, little girl," unexpectedly, he leans in, brushing his lips against mine. I think my heart stops. But then he's pushed me off him, onto the floor and laughing, always laughing at me. He swings his sword in the air with one hand and brushes the blood from his ear with the other. I don't know what to do so I stay on the floor, burning with embarrassment.

"I want you, Clove," he looks at me intently. What?

"What?" I say bewildered.

"The games," he chuckles, "I want you in the games with me this year." Oh, right, yes the games. "I'm going to talk to Brutus, see if he'll pick you as the girl to volunteer this time. You're a fighter, Clove," he extends his hand to help me up, "And you're not bad looking."

For another fleeting second he presses his lips to mine, before he turns to leave again.

"I'll let you know," he waves his hand dismissively as he leaves. Let me know what? I think to myself, about the games? Or about the kiss?


	4. Chapter 4

In District Two where I live competing in the Hunger Games is a great honour. We're trained to be the perfect tributes until we are deemed ready and one of the previous Victors chooses us to be reaped. Of course they don't have any control over the actual reaping, but they make their choices and the two they have chosen are the two that volunteer. People in the outline districts call us the Career Tributes and openly despise us for our training and eagerness for the games; I guess maybe I would despise us too, if I was the type of girl who lived in a poor, starving district, where I had no opportunity to train or to flourish. But I am not that type of girl. I am a winner. I have to keep telling myself this because there is no alternative; District Two are winners, Careers are winners. _I have to be a winner._

I've also heard people refer to us as the Capitol's lapdogs. It's ridiculous; it would make my blood boil if it wasn't so stupid. We might not be as poor as the other districts overall but there are those of us who live in poverty, who struggle to get by. Not only that, we have the winning reputation to uphold. Being victorious is more important than life. Every year our children have to sacrifice themselves for the honour of District Two. I know every district has a reaping, has the same fate, but it feels a little different when your own mentors are the ones condemning you to death. It's a little sickening, just like the games I suppose, but that's the way it is. Kill or be killed. I'm strong enough, both in body and mind, to deal with this conclusion, which is pretty lucky because it seems that I'm the one going into the games this year.

Cato comes to tell me the good news after a particularly tough training session. The mentor's instructions have most of the class breaking out in a sweat with limbs aching; I saw one girl collapse from exhaustion.

"Ladies and gentleman may I present the tributes for the 74th annual Hunger Games!" His booming voice mimics the tone of the Games' commentators as he makes his way through the crowd to me. He even does their silly, affected Capitol accent.

I shoot him a smile and for the first time I feel like we are a team. As he reaches me he takes my hand in his and raises them above our heads – a salute of victory. The mentor taking the class looks pleased at our selection; she must deem us strong enough, brave enough to have a chance. This small look gives me satisfaction.

I cannot say the same for our classmates. The majority are staring cruelly at me, their eyes looks stony and the phrase_ if looks could kill _comes to mind. I imagine most of them are jealous. My skills with knives and other weapons have not made me popular, neither might I add, has my fiery personality. It doesn't matter though, with Cato looking stunning by my side and holding tightly to my hand, I feel invincible. I feel like I could win these games. I try to ignore the thought at the back of my brain as Cato pulls me toward him in an embrace. We are going into this together, but only one of us can come out.


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks go by with Cato and I becoming closer and more trusting of each other. He suggested we train together in preparation for the games and despite refuting my claims that he wanted alone time with me, our private sessions are the only places I see him truly happy. The monstrous, cocky boy who I watched train from afar for years turns into someone playful and kind; someone I can be comfortable around. I might even consider us friends. We act like friends, joking, hugging and spending time together. We might even be more than friends, if we could ignore the fact that we'll have to kill each other. The thought makes me uneasy, so I banish it from my mind.

It's during one of these private training sessions that something changes. We're practicing hand to hand combat and Cato has me trapped with my hands twisted uncomfortably behind my back. I'm laughing with him despite the discomfort, this is nothing compared to injuries we've inflicted on each other before.

"Cato!" I giggle, a soft, girly noise that doesn't often come out of my mouth, "Let me go now!" I wriggle my wrists free of his grasp and drape them round his neck instead. He leans his chin on the top of my head and gently strokes my hair; it's relaxing, pressed against him. I realise I feel safe with him. It's unusual, I normally feel safest alone, having to depend on myself all the time. I guess solitude comes with the pressure of winning – to let people in is to be weak, to be weak means losing; something which is frowned upon in my district. It's nice though, being close to someone.

I lift my head, possibly to say something, but my train of thought is cut off when Cato leans in and impulsively kisses me. It's not like our other kisses, fleeting and shy; this kiss is passionate, desperate and full of longing. A quiet moan escapes my lips – begging for more kisses, but he pulls away before I get them.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," Cato says shyly. I have never seen him shy. His cheeks have flushed pink and he turns away from me. I feel stunned, unprepared, but I can't say I didn't enjoy it.

"Clove," he begins in a small voice, "I don't want you to come into the games with me,"

"What?" I exclaim. I feel betrayed, we were a team! I thought he believed in me, thought I was strong. How did he put it? A fighter.

"Clove,"

"No, Cato! How can you say that? I thought..." I trail off, "I thought you liked me," My voice shrinks to a whisper. I feel small, very small; like a little girl in front of her crush. How foolish I was, someone like Cato could never want someone like me, I'm sure he has girls lined up for his amusement. And our kiss, something meant to distract me, so I would back out of the games easily. I am stupid, so stupid. I should feel angry but instead I feel defeated. I can't afford to show weakness though, not to him, so fury is the only emotion I allow myself to display.

"Don't be stupid, Clove!" Cato shouts, kicking over a rack of weapons in his rage. Spears and swords clatter to the floor around us.

"I love you!" he yells, and sinks to the floor, his head in his hands. What? I don't move, I don't speak; I cannot believe it.

"I want you out of the games to protect you!" His voice is muffled, obstructed by his hands, "I – I love you; have grown to, over these weeks together. You know there can only be one victor, Clove, I can't lose you. Not like that." His anger has diminished and for the first time I see him as a vulnerable, young boy. For the first time, I see him cry.

"It's too late, Cato, you know Brutus won't change his mind with the reaping only a week away." Surely he knows this. We both do. I start to acknowledge the thought that I've been trying so hard to lock up – that only one of us can live. The thought makes my head hurt but there is no escaping it.

So instead I kneel beside Cato and try to kiss away his tears, holding on to what little time we have left.


	6. Chapter 6

The day of the reaping arrives all too quickly and I find myself standing in front of a mirror, having dressed up for the occasion. It's a strange custom, dressing up nicely to be sent to your death. But then again, it's a strange custom to send twenty three kids to their death each year and make the whole country pretend to enjoy it.

I don't normally care much about the way I look, but I look pretty enough I suppose. I've let my hair hang loose for once and it looks dark and glossy, covering my shoulders. I'm wearing a soft, moss-green coloured dress which makes me look much more girly. Much more vulnerable. I am glad to see, though, that my lips have found their usual smirk to turn up in; hiding the dread I am so desperate to mask.

Cato meets me at my door, looking dashing in a dark blue shirt and some smart trousers. There's a slight look of concern on his features but it's gone so quick I wonder if I've imagined it.

"Mrs Sevina," Cato nods his head in a greeting to my mother who has appeared behind me. "You both look beautiful," he says, easily charming us. I watch my mother turn slightly pink in her cheeks. She is a small woman, like me, with dark hair framing a heart shaped face and an ever present worried expression. Cato gives me a kiss on my cheek. My mother doesn't question this – she knows about my being tribute and she knows about Cato but she has long since learnt to avoid personal topics with me. I'm good at shutting people out. Well, apart from Cato, he worked his way in to a place in my heart but look what good that's caused.

The morning is hot and humid. The people of District Two stand in the square, packed in tight, uncomfortable in the heat. Those eligible for the reaping stand in roped off sections, grouped together by age. I go to stand with a group of fifteen year olds. Some of the kids in the square look scared; the young ones and the weak ones. Others look eager to be chosen, to bring pride to their district. It's foolish of them either way, our tributes are organised months in advance so we can train up and prepare.

A gaudy looking woman from the capitol takes the stage at the head of the square. She has long, pink eyelashes and nails, pale lips blown up from surgery and a pastel green wig. Capitol fashions are not pretty. The woman introduces herself as Louella and says something in her high pitched voice.

"Ladies first!" She places her manicured hand into a clear plastic ball and swirls it through hundreds of slips of paper. My name is written on ten of those pieces of paper. Not that it matters – I'm going in either way.

She calls a name. I volunteer.

The girl who I replaced looks relieved; she's a small, mousy looking girl. Good, no one is happy when a twelve year old gets reaped – my volunteering will be welcomed.

Louella asks me my name and I say with as much bravado I can muster, "Clove Sevina, I just know I can win these games!"

"There's the spirit we've been looking for! Ladies and gentleman – Clove!" The way she puts it, I do feel brave. I am brave and I am strong. A smile lights up my features.

Cato volunteers and plays the role of perfect tribute even better than I do. We shake hands, beaming at each other. Maybe it's stupid to be smiling as I volunteer my own death but I'm with Cato, and that's all that matters in this moment. We look perfect together, two strong tributes, brave and maybe a little insane. But I think that between the two of us, District Two could have another Victor this year.

We grin and raise our arms to the crowd before the Peacekeepers take us away. Before I'm pushed from view I blow a kiss to the audience. They eat that stuff up in the Capitol.


	7. Chapter 7

I gasp as we board the tribute train. Even coming from one of the more fortunate districts; I have never seen something so grand as this. The walls and ceiling are a smooth, silver metal and the floor is covered with a fluffy, teal carpet. In the middle of the ceiling is a full sized, golden chandelier with little, electric bulbs and crystals hanging from it. The crystals reflect the light and make pretty patterns on the ceiling and the walls.

Plush green and blue armchairs are dotted around a coffee table that's laden with brightly coloured cakes and miniature fruit. I can't resist stroking their velvety fabric as I walk past and I notice Cato has picked up a purple cupcake and is sniffing it somewhat suspiciously; as if wondering whether such strange coloured food can be edible.

"I know! I know!" Louella, our escort, screeches happily at our awed expressions. "There's no place like the capitol!" Well she's got that right; I've never seen something so absurdly glamorous in my life. "I'm going to get Brutus and Enobaria; they'll be your mentors for the duration of your stay. You just sit tight here!" She makes it sound like we're on holiday or something. Although I suppose I did put myself forward for this, I only have myself to blame.

I settle in a grass green armchair and avoid Cato's gaze. I'm pretty sure I do love him, and he's already confessed his love for me. It's so ridiculous – we're going in to kill each other for god's sakes! I can't help wondering how long our friendship, our relationship, will survive once the games start. I've seen Cato train and I know his personality as well as my own, he's ruthless, the kind of boy who's made for these games. And I know myself that I won't go down without a fight. Neither of us has signed off on life yet, but I could never in a million years kill Cato. _Only one Victor, _I think._ One of us has to die._

My breath catches in my throat and my eyes start stinging so I dig my nails into my arm to distract myself from the thoughts that are a hundred times more painful than any injury I've ever sustained.

"Clove? Are you okay?" Cato touches my hand gently, his voice filled with concern. He must have noticed my tense position. I whip my head round and try to smile.

"Oh yes, perfect, I just-" I can't finish my sentence so I squeeze his hand to reassure him instead. He gets the message and drops it; just in time too as our mentors have entered our train car.

Brutus and Enobaria are two of District Two's previous victors. I've seen them both around but never talked to either of them personally. I know Cato's had private training with Brutus before, though. Brutus is a large, muscular man. He can't be that old but he's got a bald head. His features are strong and cruel looking and when he speaks it's with a deep voice bursting with excitement. He's going to be Cato's mentor which I'm relieved about because although I'd never admit it, I find him a little scary.

It's not as if Enobaria's the sweet, motherly type though. Who am I kidding? They're Victors; they weren't crowned for their compassion. Enobaria looks younger than Brutus but no less vicious. She has sharp, golden canines that the Capitol altered for her after she tore out someone's throat with her teeth in her games. I'm no pushover and I'm certainly not particularly kind, but I feel as if these two are more committed to the games than I am. They seem like the type to take pleasure in other people's pain. I'm not sure if this fact scares me or encourages me that they may actually be able to teach me something to help me stay alive.

"Clove?" Enobaria is staring at me. It is not a pleasant look. "I was just saying," She says pointedly, "would you like to retire to a different room? So we can talk about your training in private?"

"Cato knows what I can do but okay," I reply flatly. I don't particularly want to be alone with this woman but I suppose I'll have to be at some point.

Enobaria leads me to another room, a bedroom. The huge bed is in the middle of the room with a large closet and an adjoining bathroom. She pats the space next to her on the bed and I sit down cautiously. It's funny, if slightly alarming, how close we're sitting when we have this whole room to ourselves.

"First off, do you have any special skills I should know about?"

"Uhh, I'm fairly handy with a knife," I trace patterns on the duvet with my fingers, avoiding looking my mentor in the eyes.

"Great, yes, Brutus said this year's girl was good with knives." I risk a glance up at her but she's looking into the distance, apparently considering my skills. "Well as a Career tribute you'll take part in the cornucopia bloodbath, yes? Yes. There'll be knives there, if you show the gamemakers how good you are." Enobaria looks back at me, her eyes dark and glistening, hungry for the upcoming bloodbath. Maybe I should be thinking like this. Maybe I would be if I wasn't going into the arena with the one person, excluding my family, that I actually care for.

Enobaria tells me that dinner will be served soon, that we'll talk more about my angle for the games once we get to the Capitol. And then she leaves.

I don't go to dinner. Instead I curl up in a ball and for the first time in years, I cry myself to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

I dream that I am already in the arena. I am running as fast as my legs will carry me across a never ending expanse of grass. Cato and Enobaria chase me, squealing with laughter and brandishing heavy, deadly looking weapons.

My heart pounds and my breathing is rough from the exertion. I cannot outrun them. I turn round to face them; maybe I'm hoping I can fight my way out. But it's futile, they are much bigger and stronger than I am, and I know without checking that I have no weapons.

Enobaria extends her arm and her spear plunges into my stomach, the force sending me to the ground. Pain sears through my body and insects crawl from my wound. Enobaria laughs a cold, cruel laugh and I watch her golden canines glint in the sunlight. The insects begin to feast on my flesh and I scream for help. I scream at Cato, begging him to save me but he just whispers _Don't be stupid Clove; I don't want you in the games with me. _Then he takes Enobaria's face in his hands and passionately kisses her. I scream and scream till my throat is sore and the insects swallow me whole.

I wake with a jolt and nearly fall out of bed when I see Cato next to me. _Just a dream,_ I remind myself, _It was just a dream._ Cato's face wears a sad expression and I wonder if I was screaming out loud in my sleep.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Clove," his voice is pained; he must have got some idea of what the dream was about from my screams.

"I know," I reach up and kiss him softly to let him know we're okay. He plays with my hair in silence for a second before saying something.

"Brutus and Enobaria wanted to watch the recaps of the reapings after dinner but I'd rather do it with you. Want to check out the competition?" He winks at me and I can't help but smile.

"Go on then," Cato turns on the wide screened TV that it is placed on the wall opposite my bed. I curl up next to him and prepare myself to see the faces of the people who I will have to kill, the faces of the people who may be my killer.

From District One there is a pretty, blonde girl and a tall boy who volunteers. Typically the District One tributes are also careers so they will be our allies. I hope they're good enough to help me keep Cato alive. I think it without realising. Have I decided that I would rather have Cato alive than myself? I don't know. I don't know what to think. I try to focus on the reapings.

The only other tributes who look like competition to us are a sneaky looking girl with red hair from five, a monstrous boy from eleven and the girl from twelve. She's no great physical specimen and she doesn't look mean and sly like the redhead girl, but she volunteered. Outline districts never have volunteers. She took the place of a tiny girl whose untucked shirt gave the impression of a little duck tail, her sister I believe. The sisters stick out in my mind. Some instinct tells me I shouldn't underestimate her.


	9. Chapter 9

I lie in the large bathtub, staring at the ceiling until my prep team come back and deem me pretty enough to be seen in public. I've been waxed and buffed until my skin shines and my hair has been covered in some sort of gunk that's supposed to make it glossy.

The bath water is a soft lilac colour and filled with flowers that give off a pleasant, if slightly sickly, aroma. I hold my breath and submerge my face in the water. I wonder what would happen if I drowned in here. Would they replace me? Would they send in the shaking twelve year old who I volunteered for? Or would a different volunteer take my place? Maybe they would make Cato go in alone and not bother with a girl tribute from District Two. It's possible that they're watching me right now, and if I don't come up for air soon some silly Capitol attendant will rush to my aid. This seems like the most likely of the options. The thought makes me queasy. Or maybe that's the lack of oxygen in my lungs.

I get so distracted by my thoughts that I almost do drown and when I sit up I'm spluttering and gasping for breath. The air in the room is thick and moist from the bath's heat so I'm glad when my prep team return to take me somewhere else.

There are three people in my prep team; all of them typically over the top in both their fashion sense and their attitudes to life. One of them, a young woman with a violet wig and butterfly tattoos next to her eyes, was complaining about having to reschedule her skin dying appointment because the parlour had run out of turquoise ink. Oh, the agony!

While the woman, who I learn is called Felicity, paints my nails a sparkly golden colour with some foul smelling polish she tries to make idle chit chat with me.

"You know I think you can win!" She says excitedly, "Because well, Clovers are lucky aren't they, and you're called Clove so, I figure the odds are definitely in your favour!" Felicity looks very impressed with her comparison of my name to a good luck charm. In fact she looks so beside herself that despite her ridiculousness I can't bring myself to dash her hopes.

"Oh yes," I try to put some enthusiasm into my voice but it still comes out flat and sarcastic. Felicity doesn't notice. After some more beauty regimes I'm left alone to wait for my stylist.

The tribute parade is the first time the Capitol audience really get a look at us, so each tribute has a stylist who is supposed to make them unforgettable. It's traditional for the tributes to be dressed in an outfit that reflects the industry of their district. These outfits are not usually very flattering.

In District Two our primary industry is training the Peacekeepers who police our country, but this is confidential information as the Peacekeepers are believed to have a strictly Capitol pedigree, so the industry we have to dress up as is our secondary industry – masonry. The outfits aren't as awful as many of the other districts' but they're not great. Although I suppose any outfit designed by someone from the Capitol is going to have its flaws.

My stylist is a short man whose hot pink hair is tied back with a velvet bow. His nose has been altered surgically in a failed attempt to make him more attractive and his prep team clearly need to go a little easier with his blush.

The man introduces himself as Salazar and starts to ramble on about the look he's been going for in his designs. To be honest I don't really care as long as it's not too hideous. I don't say this though; I just stand in silence until he's done talking.

After surveying the prep team's work; Salazar dresses me in a tight fitting gold dress made of slippery, shiny material. He then adds a large, gold plated neckpiece which is uncomfortably heavy and completes the look with a gold, winged helmet to match.

When I get to the stable where our chariots are housed, I see that Cato is dressed in a similar outfit and is stood next to Brutus, Enobaria and Louella. He looks relieved when I arrive and my heart leaps like always as he leans in to kiss me. I don't get my kiss though because Brutus slaps Cato on the arm and snaps "Stop that. You're a Victor not a lover,"

I don't know what Brutus means by this, nor is Cato actually a Victor; there are still twenty-three people he must kill to gain that status. One of them is me. I pinch my leg to bring my thoughts back to the present.

Louella is slating the other District's outfits a little too loudly for my liking so I'm glad when it's time for us to get in our chariots. It won't do good to have other tributes angry at us before we've even started training.

Cato gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before our chariot heads out into the crowd. The lights temporarily blind me but soon enough the thousands of Capitol citizens come into focus; their strange fashions turning the sea of people into a multi-coloured rainbow. Their cheers reverberate in my ears and I find myself giggling with the thrill of it. Some people are even screaming our names and I throw my hands up to the sky, dizzy with my brief fame. Cato catches my eye and grins at me. The commentator, Claudius Templesmith, is saying something but I can't hear him over the roar of the crowd.

When our chariot reaches the end of the parade I turn my head to see the other tributes' outfits. Most are adequate at best but the last chariot is causing a fresh wave of excitement from the audience.

In the distance the District Twelve chariot glows brightly. I can't understand why until it gets closer and I see that the tributes themselves are actually on fire. At least, they appear to be, but they're not getting burnt. The audience loves them, whooping and begging for their kisses.

"The girl on fire!" I hear Claudius shout over the cheers. Something boils up inside me as I watch the Fire Girl's face, smiling and beautiful. The thing threatening to boil up casts a scowl on my face.

Jealousy.


	10. Chapter 10

"No one is going to remember us now!" I shout as I storm through the lift doors into our quarters. I'm temporarily taken aback by the sheer size of it but it doesn't take me long to continue the complaints I'd been voicing throughout our lift journey. Jealousy does not sit well with me, and neither does being outshone.

"Of course they will! You're District Two tributes – careers!" Brutus yells back, clearly not happy with my outburst; he probably puts it down to petty envy. Which I suppose it is, but we won't have as good a chance of winning if no one remembers who we are. You need sponsors to survive. And you need to make an impression to get sponsors.

"He's right, Clove," I feel Cato's hand on my shoulder but I shrug it off.

"Of course I'm right!" Brutus snaps, "I'm going to get a drink, you children get yourselves to bed. We'll talk strategies over breakfast," He knocks over a glass vase as he storms past; causing Louella to scream and a servant to scurry over and clear up the mess. The way he calls us children rubs me the wrong way, but he's right, I'm making a fool of myself, overreacting over a silly girl in a silly outfit. Whatever. I tell myself I'm above such things.

Cato insists on spending the night in my room, to protect me from the nightmares. I don't protest; I plan on spending as much time with him as I can before the inevitable happens. I fall asleep to Cato stroking my hair and I find myself feeling peaceful for what could be the last time.

Morning comes too soon and when I wake I find Cato must have gone to breakfast without me. I dress in a plain outfit that I can move easily in; today's the first day of training and as my stylist failed to help me make an impression on the audience, today it is up to me to make one myself on the other tributes.

When I arrive at the table I find Cato and Brutus deep in conversation, Louella trying desperately to attract Enobaria's attention which is currently devoted, like mine, to the delicious looking food laid before us. I help myself to a plate full of crisp, pancakes with a sweet, golden sauce before turning to my mentor.

"So, today is your first day of training," she starts, "We already know you're good with knives, so I suggest trying to learn how to use a new weapon so you have more options. But if you show your skill with knives it will impress the gamemakers and scare the other tributes, so don't forget to do that too. They'll have survival skills stations but if you can secure the cornucopia then you won't really need them." Enobaria stabs a fried potato with her fork and I'm struck by the cockiness of our district. Not sparing a thought to the survival skills because we're so confident that we won't need them. I personally think learning a few survival skills wouldn't hurt, but it's not the kind of thing you voice out loud. Not when you're from District Two and you mentor has given you specific directions to do otherwise.

"Which brings me to alliances," Enobaria's golden teeth glint as she smiles, "District One are your definite choices, anyone else who looks strong is a possibility."

I don't want allies. I want it to just be Cato and I. But even I can tell this isn't a good idea, so I keep quiet and finish my pancakes.

The tribute training centre is an underground level; a large room with sections for weapons training, starting fires, climbing apparatus, an edible plants test and much more. But the thing that catches my eye as soon as I enter the room is the rack of knifes, glinting dangerously, calling to me. Not far from them is a sword that I can tell Cato is watching without even looking at him. I want to grab his hand and run to the weapons so we can train together like we did in the weeks before the reaping; play fighting and kissing. But the scared faces of the children who will soon be dead reminds me why I'm really here.

I start to see them for what they really are – children; children who must die, who I must kill, who must try to kill me. I'm shivering but it's not remotely cold in here. I want to curl up into Cato's chest and let him rock me to sleep like he did last night, but I cannot do that here. He's standing a foot away from me, not looking at me at all. I guess Brutus must have said something to him about our close proximity. It's a shame, because without Cato's arm around my waist to hold me together, I'm starting to lose my grip on reality. I keep myself from crumpling to the ground by repeating _You are a winner, Clove. You and Cato are the winners. These people are nothing, _in my head. Of course they're not nothing, I know this in my heart, but I have to find some way to justify their deaths or I'll just go insane.

The trainer is telling us about the different training stations; reminding us not to ignore the survival skills and warning us that there is to be no fighting between each other because we'll "have plenty of time for that in the arena". When she's finished babbling Cato and I head straight to the weapons section. To my surprise he hands me the sword and picks up a heavy looking metal object for himself.

"Try something new right?" His voice sounds breathy and attractive and I curse myself for thinking of such things at such an important time. We try out our new toys for a few minutes; Cato is strong and can throw the metal thing quite a distance, but I find the sword too heavy and clunky to be of much use to me. Before we get the chance to try something else, we are greeted by the District One tributes; Glimmer and Marvel.

Both are taller and look stronger than me but I quickly find out that Glimmer is incompetent with any weapon she tries. For all her flirty, bravado I could take her out easily. Luckily Marvel is much better equipped for the games and is particularly skilled in the use of a spear.

I'm struggling with one of the heavy objects Cato had earlier when I, much to my embarrassment, drop it not far from my foot. I hop back and hope it went unnoticed. It didn't.

"Are you sure you're qualified for the games? You seem a little...well, little, to me," Glimmer's sultry voice is in my ear and the heat rushes to my face. I spin round to face her and give her my dirtiest look but as she's much taller than me, it doesn't have the intended effect.

"At least I can actually use a weapon!" I retort, "A pretty face isn't everything."

"Not that you'd know, you don't have one." She hisses back; her crystal blue eyes narrowed in anger. _Stay above it, Clove. She's not worth it. _Glimmer tosses a blonde braid over her shoulder and looks over to where Marvel is teaching Cato how to throw a spear with more accuracy.

"Don't worry, when you die in the bloodbath, I'll give him something to live for," Glimmer's voice is seductive but cruel as she winks at me and then looks back and waves coyly at Cato.

I let out a shriek and suddenly my fists are pummelling her stomach with such unexpected force that she falls over. I climb on top of her, screaming and scratching at her, doing anything to try and hurt her. The Peacekeepers have to pull us apart.

I'm still shaking as Cato's arm slides round my waist. I'm not sure whether this is meant to be reassuring or restraining, but the simple fact that he is here next to me and not next to Glimmer soothes me. I let my head rest against his side even though all the tribute's eyes are upon us.

In the corner of the room, with the boy from her District, I see Fire Girl's piercing grey eyes fixed upon me but I can't tell which emotion lies behind them.

I throw knives at targets and imagine they are Glimmer until I'm allowed to leave.


	11. Chapter 11

The remaining days of training are dull and monotonous. I pretend to be back on good terms with Glimmer and she pretends to forgive me for hitting her. Cato helps me use heavier weapons and I help the others in our alliance improve their long distance aim. By the end of it, we're a highly skilled team.

I guess I'm glad I have allies; it would be even more frightening going into this alone, but it feels kind of ridiculous – acting like I'm friends with these people when we're going to have to kill each other in the end. Or at least watch as someone else kills them. Marvel and Cato seem to have become good friends but I imagine Glimmer wouldn't bother with the alliance if she had any chance whatsoever on her own. But she doesn't, and as she's from Marvel's district, we're stuck with her.

I'll be relieved, in a way, when the games actually start. With the start of the games comes the looming probability of my death, but at least I won't have to spend any more time getting to know the other tributes before I have to kill them.

When we're alone, I can see even Cato having reservations about the murders he's soon to commit. He acts like a typical career tribute in public, rearing to go, not bothering with morals. I see his internal struggles though. It's written in his features, behind his showy attitude. Neither of us complains. It's not the kind of thing a career tribute does. We're not known for taking the moral high ground.

We barely even speak in our last days, Cato and I. We spend a lot of our free time alone together, just sitting in silence, wrapped in an embrace. It's as if we know nothing the other says will make a difference.

With each other we are quiet, miserable and self consumed. With everyone else we are loud, arrogant and dangerous.

The time passes quickly and I find myself waiting for my training score. In my private training session with the gamemakers I just threw some knives at the targets. Apparently it was impressive though because I score a very respectable ten. As does Cato, who tells me he sliced the head of a mannequin clean off in his session. Despite my depressed state I smile at our scores; good scores mean good sponsors, something I'm desperate for. Maybe the odds will be in my favour.

Marvel and Glimmer each manage a nine, although I've no idea what Glimmer did to deserve that. Maybe flirted with the gamemakers. The other tributes with good scores are the boy from Eleven, who also scores a ten, and the boy from Twelve, Peeta I believe he's called, who scores an eight. I feel certain that Cato and I, have received the highest scores and am enjoying a moment of smugness. Until the Fire Girl's face is flashing on the screen and with it, the number eleven.

I let out an involuntary gasp. She's done it again – outshone me. I feel a personal vendetta growing for this girl. As I wonder what on earth she could've done to get that eleven, I decide that she is the one to kill.


	12. Chapter 12

"Clove,"

"Hmmm?" Louella's sternest voice draws me back to reality. Her lesson on etiquette wasn't interesting enough to hold my attention so I begin daydreaming about ways I can prove that Fire Girl is nothing compared to me. They're not very attractive daydreams but thinking of anything at all would be better than listening to Louella.

For the past hour she's been trying to teach me how to behave during tonight's interview – without great success. Enobaria's advice had been pretty unhelpful, or I could say pretty non-existent. At the start of the day she'd waved me off in an uncommitted way, telling me to 'be myself' and that I'd be fine. Although at first it was seemingly useless, my mentor's advice has proven to be much better than Louella's, most of which I haven't been listening to.

"Sit up straight, smile, hands in lap. Got it." I wave my hands in the air to show my exasperation and exit the room without looking at Louella. No doubt her blown up lips are pursed in anger at my impoliteness. It doesn't bother me though.

The time left until my interview flies by quickly and I find myself once again in the hands of Salazar, my stylist. This time he's dressed me in a coral coloured dress with a large ruffled skirt that I have to hold up while walking so I don't trip. It's quite pretty I suppose, but I imagine Fire Girl's stylist could have come up with something far better. My hair is curled and piled up on top of my head and I'm wearing makeup; I look nice, but not like myself.

When I go to meet the other tributes before our interviews, Cato tells me I look beautiful, looking stunning himself in a dark suit and a tie that matches my dress. Glimmer snorts at his comment and I'm having trouble resisting the urge to hit her again.

She's the first tribute to have her interview and she saunters on to the stage in a see through dress, her full lips stretched in an easy grin for the crowd. They will love her.

I can't listen to hers or Marvel's interview because I suddenly feel sick. What if the audience doesn't like me? This is my last chance to impress them before I'm thrown in to fight to the death.

The presenter's, Ceaser Flickerman, voice fills my ears and it's saying my name. Cato pushes me in the back and I walk onto the stage without thinking. There are so many people, their flamboyant fashion tastes make the audience nearly as bright as the lights that are on me. Cheers lift my spirits and I smile at the crowd. Ceaser shakes my hand and gestures for me to sit down in a large leather armchair in the centre of the stage. I try to remember Louella's notes on etiquette but I don't think anyone's that bothered how I sit.

"So, Clove! You volunteered at the reaping," Ceaser's midnight blue hair fascinates me more than his words so I have to remind myself to answer. This is not Louella who I can easily ignore with no lasting consequences; this is my last chance to shine before the games. With this in mind, all I manage to say is "Yes."

"Can you tell us about the day? What entered your mind when you volunteered?" Ceaser presses on. I can hardly tell the whole capitol I was regretting volunteering because I might have to kill my new boyfriend.

"I thought – I think that I have a chance to win," I beam at the presenter with his ridiculous hair. "I'm strong and fast, so the other tributes better watch their backs," I wink at the audience. I say it to impress them, not out of any real belief but I still find Fire Girl's face swimming in my mind with the mention of death threats. There is a hysterical laugh threatening to bubble out of my mouth. I am going mad, that I am sure of. It's gone to my head. The laugh escapes my lips and I have to press my hand over my mouth. Ceaser asks me a few more questions about my skill with knives that I try to answer with typical career tribute verve. Then a buzzer goes signalling my time is up and I leave the stage debating my sanity.

Cato goes after me, sailing through his interview with ease. I lose track of the others, until Fire Girl's. I learn that her name is Katniss. Her dress, as usual, is stunning, even if her personality leaves something to be desired. She twirls in circles, giggling a girly noise that I find sickening, and her dress goes up in flames round the hem; jewels glint in the artificial light. When did I become so jealous of dresses? Maybe when I started training to kill people if they got in my way.

The boy from Twelve is last, Peeta. I don't pay much attention to him either, until the last minute, when Ceaser asks him if he has a girlfriend back home.

"I don't think winning will help in my case," he has a soft, pleasant voice, "because – because she came here with me."

The crowd gasps. Oh, young love. Destroyed by the games.

Cato and I exchange a look.

I doubt Twelve's love story is real like mine and Cato's, if it was they would have bothered to keep it hidden. It doesn't matter though, the Capitol will believe it.

I taste bile in my mouth and I realise that she's done it again. Katniss, the girl on fire, has ruined me. Now I must ruin her.


	13. Chapter 13

Cato and I spend our last night together. He kisses my hair while I cry, I didn't mean for him to see me cry but that is what you do when there is nothing else left. Later on Cato cries too, when he thinks I'm asleep. Instead, I lie awake, my head on his chest which is wracked with sobs. I could've revealed that I was awake and comforted him somehow, but I knew he wanted this private moment to himself.

I suppose I do fall asleep eventually because soon enough morning is looming over me, along with the start of the games. I rouse Cato with a kiss on his forehead and manage to drag myself away to get dressed. I don't want to leave him, not for one second. Our seconds left together are limited now; it feels like they are ticking away, like my life is ticking away, with every beat of my heart.

I cannot think about this now, I have to focus on strategy; on ways to survive, not on the ways I might die. Still, my heart thumps in anxiety at the different bloody ends I could meet.

Cato catches my wrists as we're about to leave and my heart rate quickens with a different emotion. He lifts my hands to his chest where I can feel the muscle he has worked hours to achieve and he places his hands on my hips. Our lips meet and it is a desperate kind of kiss; full of longing, desire and the words we can't bring ourselves to say. He presses my body close to his and a moan escapes his lips.

"I wish I didn't have to let you go. Not now, not ever." His voice is thick with emotion as he whispers into my hair. I understand. I feel the same. I wish I could tell him. I give him a last kiss before it really is time to go.

"I'll see you soon," I squeeze his hand before leaving.

I don't bother to say goodbye to Enobaria, I don't care for her. We, the other tributes and I, ride a hovercraft to the arena. On the way there a Capitol woman in a peacekeeper uniform grips my arm and pierces it with a large needle before I can protest.

"Your tracker," she says. Of course, wouldn't want a missing tribute, no sir. I don't look at the tributes across from me but their presence weighs on me like a stone over my lungs, inhibiting my breathing. I don't want to look at the faces of the people who I must kill.

Instead I close my eyes and try to prepare myself for what's to come. I imagine there will be trees in the arena, some kind of cover; the years without wood for fires or protection from the elements are considered dull in the capitol – too many natural causes' deaths, not enough blood. Bile rises in my throat. Trees. Right. There will most likely be trees, and drinkable water. There is no guarantee of edible plants or animals, though, at least not any I can identify; so I will have to secure some provisions from the cornucopia. That should be easy enough with my allies. Marvel and Cato are plenty skilled, as am I. Glimmer is less so, but I suppose I overlooked her in my hatred; she must be of some use or she wouldn't have got such a good score.

We reach the destination too quickly for my liking. I'm taken into my quarters where Salazar will show me my outfit for the coming weeks. If I last that long. The bile is threatening to make a reappearance.

The tributes final quarters are underground and we enter the arena via a tube that carries us up through the earth. My silly Capitol stylist is not the most comforting of people to spend what could be my last minutes with. He babbles on about my odds in a high voice and I tune him out as best I can, focusing on my breathing. _In, out. In, out._

Salazar helps me dress in dark trousers, a plain top and a black, waterproof and heat reflecting jacket. The boots are supple leather – good for running. He ties my hair back for me and we sit in silence until the countdown begins. The voice reading the countdown sounds calm, steady while I am anything but.

My heart threatens to burst out of my chest as I stand in the tube and it seals around me. I press my hands to the glass, the sweat making them slippery and try to control my breathing.

I feel the cold air rush over my face first, then the blinding sunlight. It has begun.


	14. Chapter 14

The twenty three other tributes and I stand on round metal plates, equidistant from each other, that are arranged in a circle around the cornucopia. The cornucopia glints golden in the bright sunlight, its mouth overflowing with the things that will help us survive.

Sixty seconds. I have sixty seconds to take in my surroundings, sixty seconds before we can move from our metal plates and the killing begins. I was right about the trees. To the left is a large area of woodland, it will be covered in there – that is where the tributes who are left after the bloodbath will go to hide. I may not be one of them. To the right is a large, clear blue lake, this may be the only fresh water source, in an attempt to draw us all to the same place. My allies and I must take the lake. Across from me there is a steep drop and I cannot see what lies beyond it.

Twenty seconds. My heart thumps with adrenaline and my mouth is dry with fear. The countdown fills my ears louder than my heartbeat; soon I will need to act. I need a plan. I need to think. But thinking is hard when your death is imminent. Cato is on a metal plate six tributes away from me, his eyes are fixed on the cornucopia and I know that is where he will go; straight in, straight to the weapons. That is where I must go too. I can't see Marvel or Glimmer so I assume they're on the other side of the cornucopia and that it is blocking them from my view.

Ten seconds. There is a small belt of knives not far from me, they're not the best I've seen, the better weapons will be closer to the cornucopia, but they are the closest weapons to me. They're also small which means I can attack from a distance, by throwing them at my opponents. I have made my decision when the claxon sounds.

I sprint across the hard packed earth and scoop up the belt in a swift movement. My heart drums so loud in my ears I can't hear anything else. I spin my head round and see the boy from District Nine advancing on someone. I don't think. Can't think. My knife whizzes through the air and embeds itself in his back before I realised I was going to throw it. He slumps to the ground, the handle protruding from his flesh.

I lock eyes with the girl he was looming over, it's Katniss; the girl who showed me up time and time again, who undermined my romance, who was better than me in every way. Her eyes are wide with terror and she turns and flees. My second knife lodges in her backpack. I grit my teeth, but let her go.

I stay locked in the same pace, having trouble with thinking straight. I just killed someone. I tried to kill someone else too; I will kill more people soon. I will kill them or they will kill me. I wonder what his name was, what he liked to do in his spare time, whether he had a family, a girlfriend, someone who will mourn his death – someone who will wait eagerly for mine, to see the vengeance of the boy they loved. I feel sick.

"Clove!" It is a cry, a scream, a pained strangled sound of a voice and I know what's coming. I look up to Cato's face, contorted in fear, but not for himself. I twist my body round and stab a blade into the first thing it comes across – someone's stomach. I look into my victim's face, it's the girl from District Seven – she holds an axe above her head, ready to deliver the death blow and instead receiving one herself. Her body crumples, smaller in death and I sprint away from it so I don't have to watch the light leave her eyes.

I run to Cato and our eyes lock, conveying all the words we can't say right now. He grips a sword in his right hand and my stomach turns when I see how red it is.

"How many?" My voice is breathless and it catches on the lump in my throat.

"Five," he replies without emotion. Five. Five people he has murdered already, in the space of...I don't know how long. Time lost meaning when the boy from Nine keeled over.

"I got two," I manage to choke out, "Boy from Nine, girl from Seven," Cato just nods at this. I'm about to ask about our allies when I see them walking towards us, dragging the boy from Twelve with them.

"Let go of me!" He cries, "I'm with you, okay?!" His blonde curls are tousled, his face scrunched up in distress and there's a cut on his left forearm. He seems unharmed apart from that, though. Marvel and Glimmer throw him to the ground in front of Cato and me.

"He says he can help us find the girl on fire," Marvel smirks at Peeta, lying on the ground.

"I can," Peeta urges. Cato looks at him like he's dirt and my heart thuds, suddenly scared that Cato will kill him, even though I have no emotional ties to the boy.

"Fine." Cato snarls, "But if you try _anything_...I swear, I'll kill you in a heartbeat," Peeta nods and scrambles to his feet. I'm not certain but I think Cato steps between me and Peeta in a protective manner.

"What's the strategy?" Glimmer asks as she digs an axe blade into the ground.

"Go through the supplies, wait till its dark and go looking for the others," I am surprised to hear my own voice giving the orders. Cato and Marvel start collecting the supplies that were furthest from the cornucopia and Glimmer and I head to the mouth to root through what's useful and what's not. A dark part of me wonders whether now is the time to bump Glimmer off but I shake it away, we may not be friends, but Glimmer is my ally.

The golden horn is full of crates of food and racks of weapons; their metal glinting dangerously. I run my finger over the blade of a dainty looking knife and wince as it draws blood, the red dripping onto the earth. Glimmer shoves aside a burlap sack of apples and gasps. The boy from District Three crouches behind it his eyes wide, hands fumbling for a weapon. My knife is already at his throat.

"What are you doing here?" I press the blade onto his skin and beads of red gather at its serrated edge, the same way the blood from my finger did.

"I – I can help you! Please!" He pleads with me, begging and whimpering, "Please, please don't kill me!" His brown eyes brim with tears and it feels like a punch in the gut. I've already killed two children today, what will it do to me to kill another? It is not a question I can afford to be asking, I will kill someone else in this arena, I know it, I will not go down without a fight. It's strange, what these situations do to you. Everybody wants to be the hero, help others, be a good person and all that, but in the face of death it is much easier to let someone else take the blow rather than endure it yourself. Or so I have found out. _Clove. _I have to remind myself to think about what's at hand. Remorse can come later, now is the time for action. The boy in front of me is sobbing.

"District Three, right? You work with electrics?" My voice is frantic but I don't know how to control it. The boy chokes on his words.

"Yes! Yes, please, please..." he breaks down, but a plan is forming in my head.

"Glimmer," I turn to look at her, "I know how we're going to protect our supplies while we hunt," I find myself grinning.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N This is the first author's note for this story, eep. Sorry this chapter has taken so much longer to upload, but I hope it was worth the wait. Thankyou for all the feedback I've been getting, it really makes writing worthwhile to know people like what I'm doing. I'm glad people are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it. - J x**

Night draws in with a darkened sky and I can't help but notice the absence of stars. I suppose it's not a real sky then. It's not important, but it would've been nice to have something natural, something pretty in this place of nightmares. There's a moon though, a thin sliver of white to save us from complete darkness.

Not that it matters to the five of us, we have special night vision glasses that allow us to see perfectly in the dark, but I suppose the moonlight will be of use to the other tributes. Before we kill them.

We didn't give the District Three boy, Miles, a pair of glasses. There weren't enough to go round and with his job for us done, if he were disposed of it wouldn't matter all that much. My blood chills at my casual thoughts of death, but it's all I have now. There's no point being squeamish about death once you're in the arena.

I was pretty impressed with myself for coming up with a useful task for Miles. His district works with electronics so I figured he'd be able to set up a much more efficient trap than the rest of us. I had him dig up the mines that were under our plates at the beginning of the games and rewire them, positioning them strategically around our pile of supplies. We know the safe path in to the pile, but anyone else who tries to get to them, will not. Miles did a good enough job, it's quite remarkable the things a person can do when there's an immediate threat to their life. He's lucky I found him and not Cato, or he wouldn't be here to lay the trap.

The five of us wait in silence for the inevitable start of the anthem and the list of the dead. When the music starts playing, although it is a relatively pleasant tune, fills me with dread. I lean into Cato's side and he supports me with his arm round my shoulders. Glimmer and Marvel stand in a similar position and I wonder briefly whether there is any romance between them. Or maybe we just have to cling to anyone and anything we can in this wretched place. Miles stands alone; his district partner is already dead. Peeta sits on the floor with his head in between his knees.

"Don't worry Twelve," Marvel calls to him, "She's still alive, if she wasn't, we wouldn't have spared you!" He laughs. It is a cruel thing to say but I barely notice – I'm digging my fingernails into Cato as the faces of my victims appear on the screen. I must be hurting him but he says nothing. Eleven dead in total. Thirteen left, six of them are in my alliance, if we include Peeta and Miles. How long until our alliance diminishes or we turn on each other? Who will be the first of us to die? I suspect Miles will go soon; his usefulness has run out so it's only a matter of time. Peeta won't live after we've found his district partner. He too will have lost his use and will become disposable, or else he will die trying to defend her, which I suppose is more likely. I don't believe he is really loyal to us. He needs the protection until he and Katniss can break off on their own – he can't possibly have given up his little love story act this quickly. Which leaves only one option; he is using us to support the story. I decide not to trust him from now on, not that I did before hand, but now even less so.

"Come on," Cato's low voice in my ear shakes me from my thoughts. The anthem is over, night has fully fallen – it's time to go.

The five of us - we leave Miles behind as guard, even though his trap is guard enough – take a small pack each in case we get split up or held up and we can't get back to camp straight away. My pack contains a pack of dried fruit, some strips of dried meat, a water bottle and three purification tablets. I carry six knives on my person; two at my hips, the rest hidden inside my jacket.

Cato is armed with his sword, Marvel with a spear, Glimmer with a bow and arrow which Peeta looks at in a strange way. Maybe he wants it for himself but I can't picture him wielding it with much success. He also carries some sort of sword, but not one as large as Cato's.

Glimmer and Marvel take the lead; Glimmer is laughing at something Marvel said, throwing her head back, her golden hair turned silver in the moonlight. Peeta goes next and Cato and I follow behind him. I don't think any of us feel comfortable teaming up with him, but he got a good score so he must be pretty good and what he said was right, he's our best chance of finding _her_.

We advance into the forest, the closely packed trees making it darker; lucky we have our night vision glasses. I feel less comfortable here than out in the open even though realistically I have more cover from enemies here. We don't make an effort to be quiet; the others joke about the other tribute's deaths and I go along with it, even though my stomach is twisted into a knot at the thought. It feels risky to draw this much attention to ourselves, but we are careers – we are the hunters, not the hunted.

That's when I see it. Flickering not too far away; crackling yellow and orange, the flames licking the blackness around them. What kind of an idiot lights a fire in plain sight on the first night of the games? Our next victim, apparently. The voices of my allies rise in whoops and cheers as we all break into a run. I force my voice to make the same noises, if I can just forget what is about the happen...If I can just forget, it will be easy. I push a giggle past my lips and Cato squeezes my hand so briefly I'm not sure if I imagined it or not. Then he's off – crashing through the trees after Marvel and Glimmer. I'm left lagging behind with Peeta and I feel sick at being alone with this person who I so greatly distrust. He's smiling at me, but I can tell that his elation, like mine, is false. I suppose the same of my other allies, they just hide it better. And you have to hide it, if you want to win. To show remorse would be cowardly. I swallow the lump in my throat.

I reach the little clearing seconds after the others. It's the District Eight girl, cowering behind her fire. She does make some effort to defend herself, by using a burning branch that she lit with her fire. It's no good. Cato's sword plunges into her side before I can look away and her screams threaten to consume me. I feel like breaking down but instead find an involuntary laugh burst from me. Glimmer smiles at me, Marvel searches her tiny camp for any supplies and Peeta stands still, staring at the girl's body, curled in on itself. I risk a glance at Cato and find a pained grimace masking his features. I'm shocked, until in seconds it's gone and I'm no longer certain it was there in the first place.

I wish I could hold him and we could fall asleep together, safe and whole like we were before. His golden hair looks almost auburn in the firelight; his full lips are pulled upwards in a grin that reveals his straight teeth. He is a good actor, very good; but there is a flicker of something in his blue eyes. You wouldn't recognise it if you didn't know him, but I do know him, very well. And he can't hide from me.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," he spits. We walk on for a bit, shining lights through the foliage.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" I say.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," Marvel replies, looking over the group.

"Unless she isn't dead." Glimmer adds, and receives a filthy look from Cato.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the cannon?" Glimmer carries on, "Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done." This is a challenge; she wants to show Cato that he is not the leader of our alliance.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," Marvel backs her up.

"I said she's dead!" Cato's face has turned red and I fear he's going to hurt the others. I place my hand on his arm to steady him while he continues to bicker with Glimmer.

"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!" Peeta shouts over the clamour. It's the first time I've heard him speak since we spared his life after the bloodbath. His blonde hair is matted and stuck to his forehead with sweat. I find myself nodding at his suggestion. Our eyes lock, blue on green. Why is this boy so humane? It makes it so much more difficult to want him dead.

"Go on, then, Lover Boy. See for yourself." Cato shrugs, suggesting he is fine with it but the way he slams his blade into the earth says otherwise. When Peeta's out of earshot Cato's voice turns to a whisper.

"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?"

"Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife." I hear my own voice, hushed in a reply. Why am I trying to keep this boy alive? I feel determined to justify myself. "Besides, he's our best chance of finding her." My voice turns sour when I say this and I realise it's more than a justification, I dislike this girl, fiercely.

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" Cato's eyebrows furrow like they always do when he concentrates.

"She might have. Seemed pretty simple minded to me. Every time I think about her spinning round in that dress I want to puke." My voice is full of venom, but I feel better. Maybe that is the way to survive in the arena – focus on the hatred so you can't feel grief.

"Wish we knew how she got that eleven,"

"Bet you Lover Boy knows," Peeta returns, bringing an end to our conversation.

"Was she dead?" Glimmer asks.

"No, but she is now," Peeta confirms and a cannon fires over his voice. Dawn is breaking, strips of orange streaking across the dark sky; it would be pretty, in another world but it reminds me of the girl's fire.

"Ready to move on?"


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N Not as long as the last chapter but something I wanted to do :)**

**TheRowanBishop - I thought about your advice and this isn't quite Glato but sort of along those lines! **

**I hope you all enjoy it and thankyou for continuing to read my story :D - J x**

Marvel takes the first watch. I curl up near the mouth of the cornucopia, as if its metal can shield me from all that's happened today. It doesn't take me long to fall asleep and for the nightmares to take over. No amount of cold metal can shield me from them, no amount of allies.

I dream of my victims. In my mind they are already dead, blood spills from their wounds and their faces are a sickly grey; yet somehow they advance toward me. I'm lying on the ground in the cornucopia but I can't move, I scramble on the dry earth trying to get away but it is futile. My heart pounds in my ears as the boy comes closer and closer. He has no weapon but I know he is going to hurt me. My body is glued to the ground, I cannot escape. The boy lunges at me despite his injuries and rakes his fingernails down my face and arms. The girl joins him and sinks her teeth into my legs and my side. I lie paralysed while they devour me, I cannot even scream.

I wake with a start, jolting upright in panic; my skin is covered in a sheen of sweat. It was only a dream, but I am no safer while awake.

I notice Marvel propped against a crate, his spear in his hand, looking over the remains of the fire where Cato and Glimmer lay. _Together. _I feel sick.

I don't know what alerts him to my presence but Marvel looks over at me and gestures for me to join him. I sit down next to him, too close for people who hardly know each other, but I find comfort in him being awake too. It is nice, I think, to have someone to sit with in such a dire circumstance, even if I barely know who he is. We sit together in silence for a while, both of us glaring through flame at the people sleeping. Cato lies on his side with his arm stretched out; Glimmer is curled next to him, not quite touching, but almost. Close enough to not look like an accident. I don't want to look at them together, but I can't bring myself to look away either.

"Couldn't sleep?" Marvel asks me, breaking the silence, but his eyes still lay on Glimmer's curled form.

"Bad dream," I whisper in reply. "Did you know her, Marvel? Did you know her before hand?" I don't know why I ask, I shouldn't ask. Maybe they are even blocking our conversation out on the screens, in case we give away too much about life in other districts.

"Yes," he sighs, it is a sad noise and I notice that his eyes are full of pain. Not for the first time I wonder if there is something between him and Glimmer. His eyes hint that there is, or at least that he wants there to be. "She was in my class at school, we didn't become friends for a long time, but I always noticed her. All the boys did of course, I mean, look at her. But I knew there was something about her, something beyond her looks – it was something I wanted to was _someone_ I wanted to know. We started training together, became friends. It was nice, but I wish...I wish I'd told her you know?" Marvel swallows a lump in his throat before continuing, "I wish I'd told her how I felt about her, before it was too late."

"How do you feel about her, Marvel?" My voice is no louder than a breath, the orange flames have blurred in my vision and my eyes have turned glassy in thought. He turns to look at me, our eyes locking.

"I think you know, Clove. I think you feel it too." His gaze travels to Cato and I let out an involuntary noise. It sounds like one an animal might make when trapped or in pain.

"Yes," I say, admitting it to someone else for the first time, "Yes, I know." For a while there is nothing but the crackle of the fire and the warmth of Marvel's body next to mine.

"You sleep now, Marvel. I'll take the next watch," I suggest and he looks grateful.

"Okay, Clove," he squeezes my shoulder lightly, "It's going to be okay,"

He meant it to be reassuring but I can only focus on the ridiculousness of the statement. Nothing is okay and it never will be again. Marvel or I will die soon, we may both die soon. Glimmer will never know how he feels about her and he will never know if she returns those feelings.

I lean against the crate, letting the wood dig uncomfortably into my back so that I'm not tempted to fall asleep and stare across the grass into the dark. I wish someone would come out of it so we could fight them. I wish someone would come so I could be distracted from my thoughts of love, and how it is a different kind of game.


	17. Chapter 17

The mood between Cato and I is still frosty in the morning. When I woke him up for his watch last night he could tell something was wrong but I didn't want to speak about it. I still don't. What is there to say? _I know we're in this to kill each other but I still don't want you to flirt with someone else? I thought you loved me so why aren't you showing it?_ But the thing is I know why he isn't showing it. How can he? It's dangerous enough in the arena without people's feelings being known. The audience will think we're copying the tributes from Twelve or if they believe in our love, the gamemakers will make something horrible happen to spice up the Games. It's stupid anyway, how can I be thinking of love when all that is left is death? Maybe that is why. In a place of death I have to hold onto something good. I just wish I knew it was real.

"What is your problem?" Cato's voice is only a whisper in my ear but it's tense and full of venom. I swallow hard and continue re-packing my supplies. For once I wish he wasn't so close, it's making it hard to think straight. I can't tell him what I'm thinking. Not here. And not with the others so close by. I'm sure they can't hear his low voice but I still can't risk it. Besides, I don't _want _to tell him. Being angry is easy, being in love is harder.

"Don't you know?" I breathe back, stuffing an apple into my pack with more force than was required.

"No! I don't!" his voice rises and I look around at our allies worried that they might be listening but they all appear to be preoccupied. Marvel watches Glimmer as she practices with the bow and arrow, giving her tips even though I've never seen him use one himself. Peeta is talking to Miles, although I can't hear their conversation. Peeta looks genuinely interested though, he seems like a kind person and it makes me resent him. It will be harder to kill someone when I think I might be friends with him in another life. I doubt he thinks I'm nice, but how can I be? When all I know is how to kill, how to harm? I've not been taught how to love; I tell myself that's why I find it so difficult.

"Cato," I sigh, not knowing what else to say. I don't get the chance to continue anyway; Peeta is up on his feet, yelling and pointing to the forest. His blue eyes are wide and I recognise the expression in them to be fear.

I scramble to my feet to see what he's looking at. A dark plume of smoke rises from the forest. Not a tribute's campfire gotten out of control, this amount of smoke can only mean one thing – a gamemaker fire.

There can be one of two possible reasons for this fire; to destroy, or to draw us together. The audience prefer to see the tributes kill one another, so I suspect the fire has the second purpose. And who better to unleash this terror upon, than the Girl on Fire herself? This fire may be widespread enough to trap other tributes too, but I know that it is for Katniss. That's why Peeta looks so frightened; he's figured it out too. The fear is not for himself but rather for a part of himself, the part of himself that will die if she does.

I imagine that our positions are reversed; I've teamed up with a group of people I despise in order to save Cato, made the ultimate sacrifice, risked the disapproval from my district and the hatred from my lover himself, only to realise it may have been futile. I understand the desperation in Peeta's eyes now; fuelled not by hate, or self preservation, but by love. And that is what makes him so dangerous. That's what he has that the Careers never do. The Careers don't know how to love and so their motives can only take them so far. But to have a love so strong that you would do anything for it, you would die for it; that's what gives Peeta his edge. I know he will stop at nothing to save her.

My allies have underestimated him, but he has underestimated us too. I think of Marvel looking at Glimmer, never knowing how she feels. I think of Cato's strangled cry at the bloodbath, when the girl from seven held a blade over my head. And I think of myself, and I think that in the place created by hate, I have finally learnt what love is. We are the careers. And we do know how to love.

The smoke clouds the sky, time is running out.

I am to first one to run into the trees.


	18. Chapter 18

I don't stop running until it's too late. The fire is right in front of me and it's a great wall of flames, their menacing tongues towering over me. I try to double back the way I came but I can't make out the path I made. I can't make out anything in fact. Everything is red and hot with black acrid smoke clouding the sky above my head. My lungs are already burning from the run and the smoke tendrils are snaking their way into my throat making it worse, much, much worse.

I don't know where the others are, but I'm not sure I care. All that matters is that I am not here, not in the fire. Even tired from my run here I am still fast and I can outrun the flames, but it's the smoke that is killing me. It burns worse than the heat, working its way into my lungs, choking me from the inside out.

Water. That's where Katniss will be and it's where I must go too. She won't go to the lake, it's too close to our camp and in any case it is too far for someone who could be severely burnt. I'm far enough from the fire to form these thoughts but I still can't breathe properly. I stop and retch bringing up bile and trying to get rid of the smoke.

I don't know how but my survival instinct seems to have carried me far enough out of the fire's range. Some areas of the arena are rigged for certain traps so maybe I've passed the fire's section. But has Katniss? This is my chance, my chance to finally one-up her. Who knows, maybe if I kill her I can get home. I'll certainly be one step closer.

When did that become my priority? When did I become so alone? I know I should try to meet up with my allies but I don't want to. They don't care about me. Not that I blame them, but it doesn't really make me want to spend time with them. I thought Cato cared but I don't know anymore. I don't know, I don't know!

It doesn't matter right now. I know what I must do. I try to shake the smoke from my brain, to think clearly, but it isn't smoke, it's a permanent shroud over my thoughts that appeared ever since I got here.

I try to drag up every bit of survival knowledge I own. I must have learnt something about finding water? Any animals that could lead me have ran from the fire or perished in it, and any wet earth will have been scorched by the heat. That's when I notice it; it's barely noticeable if you aren't looking for it – a footprint, light and fleeting, someone who was running. It's not any of my allies; even in a fast run their footfalls would leave much heavier prints.

I follow the tracks through the trees; they run away from the wall of fire and turn backward slightly at the last minute, presumably to a pool Katniss had found on an earlier day. The tracks don't go on too far, the trees finish and I find myself exposed in a small clearing. There is a little pool and sure enough she's there. She's bathing in the water, treating burns not visible from where I'm standing.

I think I could get her, I could sneak up behind her easily but something about her stops me. She looks so vulnerable in her wounded condition...

There's a shriek of laughter from behind me and my allies burst into the clearing, whooping and pumping their fists. Katniss's eyes widen and she scrambles out of the pool and sprints away, visibly in pain although the adrenaline seems to be carrying her onward.

We run after her, Cato and Glimmer yelling taunts at her. Part of me longs to be rid of her, a part is angry that I've missed the chance to be the one who does it. And a very small part of me aches for her and the suffering she is soon to endure. I shove that part of myself away.

Cato slaps me on the back as he runs past and Marvel congratulates me quietly on finding her. I don't want his congratulations or Cato's slap. I want Cato's love. It doesn't seem likely that I'll ever get it again, though, so I swallow back tears and chase after them.

We crash through the trees only moments after Katniss and look around for her. She's high up in a tree and I know immediately that I am the only one light enough to get up to her.

We watch each other for a minute, Katniss and I and the other Careers. My allies seem to have caught some of the flames too; they weren't as quick as me.

"How's everything with you?" Katniss calls down to us out of the blue, looking cheerful despite her impending death. _She knows_. I think, to myself. She knows that we are too heavy to climb the tree.

"Well enough," replies Cato, playing along, "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste. The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?" Katniss almost laughs. She is toying with us. Anger spreads through me; I hate being made a fool of.

"Think I will," Cato says, his face in a snarl.

"Here, take this, Cato," Glimmer holds out her bow and arrows and I watch Katniss's eyes glint with jealousy. So that's her secret weapon! Too bad she'll never get hold of it.

"No," Cato pushes it away with more menace than necessary, "I'll do better with my sword."

Watching him climb the tree is embarrassing. Katniss races up the branches like a squirrel but Cato is muscular and heavy and the branches snap quickly under his weight. He swears loudly as he crashes to the ground. I go to help him up but think better of it, we still haven't made up after our fight – or whatever it was.

Glimmer tries to scale the tree too but it's pointless. She fires the arrow toward Katniss but misses by a long shot. Katniss retrieves the arrow and dangles it tauntingly above our heads. I growl in annoyance.

"Cato, I'm lightest, I could go up there!" I suggest but the look in Cato's eyes practically forbids it. I don't know whether he stops me because he wants the pride of killing her or because he is genuinely worried about me. Not that it matters.

"Oh let her stay up there! It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning." Peeta says harshly running his hand through his hair, clearly agitated. He seems to be the voice of reason in all of our disputes. He's right though, she can't get down while all of us are here.

We set up camp around the base of the tree and Glimmer is on watch. I curl up and try to sleep. I'm almost gone when I feel the soft brush of lips on my cheek and look up to Cato turning away from me. Maybe he does care. But maybe I'll never truly know.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N Hey guys, thanks for the continued support and interest in my story! I'm sorry if it took a while for this chapter to be uploaded but I've recently started a new term and have had a fair bit of work to do. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please review :) - J x**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the story of The Hunger Games**

I wake up to a nightmare. A high pitched scream burns my ears and it takes me a few seconds to realise it's my own. But I'm not the only one, everyone is screaming and pain is everywhere. Is this death? Is this what it feels like? But what caused it?

In the midst of the madness I manage to focus on the striped golden bug crawling on my arm. Tracker Jackers. Genetically enhanced wasps – their stings cause hallucinations, incredible pain and in worst cases; death.

The ground sways beneath me and the world around me is spinning, I watch my allies screaming and running, a haze of golden insects clouding everything I see. I have to get out of here. I don't stop to think about the others; whether they're dying or not, I just need to get out of here, I'm not ready to die and certainly not at the hands of a bunch of creepy crawlies.

Bright colours bloom into existence in front of me like tropical flowers and I try to brush them away but they turn into smoke at my touch.

A man's voice is behind me, mourning. Like a wounded animal's cry. Someone is dying. I hope it isn't me.

The flowers are back and I have to shove them aside in order to keep running but their scent makes its way into my throat and nose; their bright colours hurt my eyes. _Not real._ I gasp, _not real._ I can't hear the screaming anymore so I decide I've either gone deaf or I'm alone. I'm counting on alone.

I seem to have gotten far away enough from the tracker jackers so I think it might be okay to stop. My eyes hurt, my limbs hurt and my brain hurts. I attempt to sit down but I fall instead, into a heap of petals and butterflies. The butterflies crawl all over me making me itch and the petals are surprisingly hard, more like thorns.

Right. I try desperately to think about what is real and what's not. I start with the simple things to distract myself from the probing insect legs that I can still feel on my skin.

_My name is Clove. I am in the hunger games. I have been attacked by tracker jackers. My allies were attacked too, they might be dead. At least I am not dead._ I have to focus. _Tracker Jacker stings cause hallucinations. _So the flowers are not real. They can't be real.

I push my palms into my eyes to try and shield them from the colours; hoping the darkness can bring some sense to me. The stings! I need to remove the stings.

My fingers brush over my skin to find the lumps that are there. There are lots, I don't know if I can do this. Arm, Cheek, leg. I repeat the sequence to myself, my eyes still closed. That is where I can feel the lumps, so that must be where I was stung.

It takes a minute for me to stop shivering and pluck up the courage to dig into my flesh for the stingers. It is worse than I thought it would be. Pain slices through me as I yank one from my arm and I'm worried I might faint. I only manage to remove two more before I become too exhausted and too frightened to continue. The long black barbs lie in my palm. They are a couple of inches long each with little spikes down their length. I don't appear to be bleeding from the wounds but they are very swollen.

Still, the fogginess in my head has cleared just from the removal of these few stings. I still ache all over but the flowers are gone and I can hear again. Now that I'm more or less mentally stable again I can see that I fell into a patch of horrid, thorny plants rather than the petals I imagined them to be.

I'm about to rip a stinger from my leg when I hear somebody crashing through the undergrowth, towards me. I scramble to my feet but despite the lack of hallucinations the ground is still swaying. Roots jump out at me from horrific angles and I know I won't be able to run.

The person is closer now, nearly upon me. I can tell from the breathing that it is a male. Maybe it's Cato! I spin round eagerly – a bad move, the world is spinning so fast it threatens to pull me with it.

It's not Cato. It's Peeta.

"Peeta!" I shout out to him. We're allies right? Maybe he can help me! Maybe –

His body slams into mine knocking me to the ground. I think I would've screamed but all the breath has left me. His knees are on my chest, squashing my lungs while he pants heavily into my face. His eyes meet mine and they are wild with fear and insanity. He still has the stings in him, I'm sure. The hallucinations are the cause for his rashness but not, I assume, the cause for his attack. It was only a matter of time until he turned on us. I don't know why I called out to him, why didn't I run?

It might even have been him who set the tracker jackers on us. But then he would've directly risked himself too. Did he think it would be worth it if he could take us all down with him? Worth it to save Katniss? I shouldn't be wondering about Peeta's survival strategies, I should be worrying about my own! Although it doesn't seem like I'll be needing them much longer.

A boy shouts something from not too far away and Peeta's head snaps up; looking for the source of the sound. My chance. I muster up all the breath I can gather in that small movement of his weight and shriek into the air. I scream and scream until Peeta's leg smashes into my ribcage breaking off my squeals into a spluttering cough. He pushes his weight further onto me and reaches out so his fingers clamp round my throat. I try to shake him off but he is much too heavy.

Black spots appear on my vision as my lungs cry, desperate for air. The more I struggle, the less use it is so I change tactic and drop my arms to my side, going still. Maybe Peeta will think I'm already dead and get off me, maybe I can escape. It's a thin sliver of opportunity but it's the only chance I've got, I'm choking to death.

I go limp and close my eyes. This was a bad idea, now that I'm not resisting, death's fingers are pulling me down deeper. The boy in the distance shouts again but it is louder now.

"I'm sorry, Clove," Peeta murmurs and releases his fingers. He starts to get off me and I twitch my fingers to my thigh where I know my knife will be.

Someone is crashing through the trees. I need to act fast, if Peeta doesn't kill me, this new person might. I grip the blade weakly and plunge it into flesh. Peeta lets out a yelp of pain. I don't know where my knife went or how deep but there is no time to find out.

I roll to the side at the same time as Peeta's foot comes down, hard. It slams into the earth centimetres away from my head. I have to get up. If he kicks me it will be bad, very bad.

I'm still too weak to get up and as I watch Peeta lunge at me I think it might be the end.

Only it isn't. Instead of his weight crushing me, there is nothing. I look up and see my rescuer slam into my attacker. It's Cato.

I watch him grapple with Peeta and I want to help him but I'm still regaining my breath and my limbs feel flattened. It's all I can do to stay out of their way.

Another boy appears and it's Marvel. His face is red and he looks like he's in pain. He grips my arm and pulls me to my feet, sending pain through my muscles. He wraps me in his arms and starts saying something as he leads me away from the fight. I don't want to be the victim, I don't want him to act like I'm useless, someone who needs protecting. I want to help Cato, I _need_ to help him.

I struggle against Marvel's strong arms but he won't release me. He's still talking in a comforting voice but I won't listen. I have to get to Cato.

I bite down on Marvel's hand and he lets me go, cursing. I start running back to the fight scene but I trip and hit my head on something.

"Clove," someone says. I black out.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N Sorry it's been so long, I've had a lot of work to do and things happening recently. I also apologise for the length of this chapter, I was having writer's block but it feels like it's been ages since I updated so I wanted to post something. I hope you enjoy anyway and thankyou to everyone who's read it this far! - J x**

I stare up at the shiny metal of the cornucopia, like a cloudy sky, blocking out the sun. I lay there for a while, letting the recent events flood my mind; making my body heavy with dread. I relive the madness that the tracker jackers created, the breath leaving my lungs as Peeta tried to kill me and Cato attacking Peeta.

I sit up sharply once I think of Cato. Is he okay? What happened after I blacked out? I whip my head round in an attempt to find someone who might know the answers to these questions, but the only person I can see is huddled as far away from me as he can get; looking more vulnerable than ever, it's the boy from District Three, Miles. To be honest with all that's happened in the games, I'd forgotten about this boy, the boy I chose to save when Glimmer and I caught him off guard. Glimmer. Where is she? I remember a boy's mourning cry and my stomach flips over.

"Miles," My voice sounds steadier than I expected it to. His eyes widen at my voice and he presses his body against the side of the cornucopia, as if to get further from me. "What happened?" I press on, "Where are the others?" The Adam's apple in Miles' throat wobbles as he swallows nervously.

"They went out to look for-" he pauses, "-for _strays_," he squeezes the word out of his lips like it causes him pain. I can understand, I know how cruel we careers must seem. But it's us or them, it's not our fault the other districts' children aren't trained like we are, but it's not as if any of the tributes ever choose to take the moral high ground and not kill anyone. They're just not as skilled as us. I surprise myself and slam my fist into the ground in anger at the unfairness of the whole situation. Why aren't I entitled to my life? Why aren't any of us?!

Miles jumps at my outburst and I can't help but think about how pathetic he looks. I suppose I should feel sorry for him but I can't, he's weak, a quality I do not admire.

"_Who?"_ I stand up when I address him again, assuming a position of power over him with my height.

"Well I-I suppose that one from twelve..." he stammers. So she's alive then, Katniss. She made it out of the tracker jacker attack. My blood boils. But it is not Katniss who I'm worried about.

"I mean my allies. Who is...?" I stop, not able to ask the question _Who is left?_ I didn't need to finish my question because I hear the sound of footsteps and voices approaching. I run out of the cornucopia, armed as always, just in case.

Marvel and Cato sprint towards our camp looking disheartened and dishevelled. I jog to meet them, leaving Miles in the cave of the cornucopia.

"Cato," I breathe quietly as I reach him. His blue eyes look over me, full of questioning, as if checking to see I'm okay. Marvel doesn't look at me and walks on past us with his head down. I know before I have to ask.

"Glimmer?"

"It was too late." Cato replies bluntly, his lips mashed into a hard line but his voice takes a softer tone when he continues, "Marvel's pretty beat up over it,"

My heart skips as I think back to the night Marvel and I shared, talking more than allies in the arena should. The hunger games are horrifying when you're trying to keep yourself alive; but they're hell when you care about someone else.

Cato looked at me for a second as if deliberating something in his mind before he pulled me in for an embrace; burying his face in my hair.

"I thought I lost you," he murmurs, "And the last conversation we had you were angry about something and I-" his voice breaks off but I can't reply. The person I was angry about is now dead. The thought sickens me. I can't pretend I ever liked Glimmer, but she was my ally. And she was the first of our alliance to go. It brings the whole purpose of these games back into perspective; to show how easily the Capitol can destroy us. And the scariest part, how easily they can trick us into destroying each other.

"I love you," I whisper into Cato's chest, too quiet for any cameras to hear, but loud enough for him.

"I love you, too," he replies. We stand there for as long as we dare and try to forget our reality.


End file.
